Epilogue
NICK
SIX MONTHS LATER
Well… I wouldn’t exactly call this traditional.
If you had told me a year ago that I’d be standing here today, surrounded by our three children, an overeager dog, and a series of increasingly ridiculous mishaps, I would have smiled politely and thought you were crazy.
But somehow, here we are.
Jonah, my best man, is standing beside me. I’m not sure if he’s actually paying attention to the ceremony or if he’s just trying to juggle a baby bottle in one hand and keep Meatball from licking his shoes.
Meatball, for his part, is wearing a bowtie, but he’s too busy monitoring the proceedings to actually be useful. As if on cue, he trots up to me with the kind of self assuredness that suggests he’s the one running the show.
I’m beginning to suspect he knows more about weddings than I do.
And then there’s the “Baby Tux Bjorn,” as Evelyn insists on calling it, with a baby strapped to my chest in a carrier.
It’s probably the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn, and I’m pretty sure Lily is making an active effort to ruin my tuxedo by drooling on it, but I don’t care. This moment is bigger than any discomfort I’m feeling.
The aisle, once covered in flower petals, has now become a battlefield. One of the boys, Ethan, I think, has decided that the flowers are a delicacy, while Samuel seems more interested in creating a mess.
I don’t even know how it happened, but now we have a bouquet of crumpled petals and half-chewed flower parts.
Babies are so much easier before they start moving.
Why did no one tell me that?
And then there’s the officiant. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look more out of place in their life. I don’t think he’s used to this kind of chaos at all.
I am, though.
This is every day for me.
I’m half embarrassed, half laughing, but at this point, I’m not even sure it matters.
And then, through the haze of noise, chaos, and all around pandemonium, I see her.
Sara.
She’s standing at the entrance, looking more radiant than I could have imagined, and for a brief second, I forget how to breathe.
It’s not the dress, though it’s perfect—tea length, with pockets, a bouquet of baby socks tucked into her arms as if to make some ridiculous point about the chaos that’s come to define us.
It’s not the way her hair is pinned up, with curls rebelliously escaping in a way that could only be described as effortlessly perfect.
It’s something about her, something about this moment, that makes everything else fade into the background.
She starts walking down the aisle, and all of a sudden, the world starts moving in slow motion. Everything else falls away.
I’m a mess. I’m holding it together only because I have no other option, but every part of me is wrecked.
The babies, the wedding, the chaotic life we’ve built, it all fades into a blur of insignificance compared to her.
It’s a ridiculous scene. In fact, I think if I weren’t so in love with her, I’d probably be rolling my eyes at the absurdity of the situation.
But I can’t. Not when she looks at me with those eyes.
Not when she’s holding on to the same love and belief in us that I’m trying to hold onto, despite everything falling apart around us.
And then, just as she reaches me, my daughter decides this is the moment to express her feelings about the event.
Lily lets out a wail so loud that I’m sure it could be heard in another zip code, and before I even have a chance to react, she’s upchucked all over my tuxedo.
Sara, of course, laughs. I would have joined her if I weren’t so horrified by the mess we’ve created.
“Is it too late to elope?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she stands in front of me, all poised and perfectly chaotic.
I can’t help it. I laugh, too. Because the truth is, I wouldn’t change a single thing. The disaster, the noise, the unpredictability, it’s us. It’s real.
And somehow, despite all of it, this feels exactly the way it was always meant to be.
“No turning back now,” I tell her, pulling her closer, “You’re stuck with me.”
She smiles, and in that instant, I know.
Whatever happens next, whatever challenges, obstacles, or absurd moments we face, I am exactly where I’m meant to be. With her. Here. In the middle of this beautifully imperfect life.
And with that, she pulls me in for a kiss, sealing the moment, sealing us, in a way that feels so complete that nothing else seems to matter.
We’ve been married for hours now, but the chaos of the day, the scattered flower petals, the impromptu diaper changes, the frantic laughter, still hasn’t fully settled.
The moment I slipped the ring onto Sara’s finger, I think I knew this was the beginning of something bigger than a wedding. This was the start of the rest of our crazy, beautiful life together.
And now? We’re here. Alone. In a honeymoon suite.
Evelyn, bless her heart, volunteered to take the triplets for the night. I didn’t even have to beg. Well, maybe a little. But she agreed, and maybe even seemed a little eager.
I look over at Sara as she slips out of her wedding dress, her smile still lingering like it’s a secret between us. The dress lands in a heap on the floor, and she moves toward the bed in that way of hers, effortlessly graceful, even though her hair’s a mess from the day, and her makeup’s smudged.
But she’s more beautiful than ever.
She sits on the edge of the bed, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “You know, I thought I’d love this.”
I raise an eyebrow, moving closer. “Love what?”
She gestures around the room, at the bottle of champagne chilling on the side, the bed that’s too big for just two people, the soft flicker of candles.
“The quiet. But it just feels… strange.”
I smile, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “It’s only until the morning.”
She looks up at me, those eyes of hers holding a little mischief now, the tension of the day finally starting to slip away.
“Well, if it’s only until morning…” She reaches for my hand, pulling me onto the bed beside her. “We should start with getting some of that uninterrupted quiet time.”
The moment our lips meet, the floodgates open, everything, all the pent-up need, the longing, the urgency we’ve both held back for so long, explodes between us. Her lips are soft, but there’s fire in the way she kisses me, a hunger that’s mirrored in every touch, every movement.
I pull her closer, my hands finding their way to the curve of her back, slipping under the fabric of her dress, and she gasps against my mouth.
That sound, low and needy, makes my heart race.
It’s been too long. Too damn long. And now, with nothing between us but skin and fire, I can’t stop myself.
I pull back for a moment, eyes meeting hers, dark, full of desire, and she looks like she’s been waiting for this, waiting for me to lose control.
“Nick…” Her voice cracks, the tension hanging in the air with electricity, and I need to hear her say it again.
“Say it,” I rasp, fingers slipping down her side to the hem of her dress, pulling it higher, exposing the soft skin of her thighs.
“Nick, I need you…” she whispers, her breath warm against my lips. And I can’t take it anymore.
Without a word, I grab her by the wrists, pulling them above her head, pinning them to the bed. Her gasp vibrates through me, but I don’t let her move, don’t let her control anything. Not tonight.
“Don’t move,” I command, my voice rough, sending a shiver through her.
She nods, her chest rising and falling with quickened breath, eyes full of heat and hunger. I let go of her wrists for a second, only to push her legs open gently, my knee coming between them, pressing her back onto the bed.
The air is thick with tension, the weight of what’s coming making the whole room close in around us. I drop my head, mouth hovering inches from her ear.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Sara,” I whisper, my lips brushing against the soft curve of her neck. “I can’t wait to ruin you. My wife…”
Her body arches against me, a soft moan escaping her lips, and my grip tightens on her thighs, holding her still as I take my time, teasing, tasting. My fingers skim her body, grazing over the lace of her underwear, pulling it aside slowly, feeling the heat radiating from her.
When I press my thumb over her clit, she jerks beneath me at the sudden contact.
“Fuck,” she breathes, her hips moving with a desperate need, grinding against my touch.
“Patience,” I murmur, my voice a low growl. “You’ve got to wait for it.” I slide a finger down, dipping into her, feeling the slickness of her arousal, and I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. “So ready for me.”
She moans, her body writhing beneath my touch, but I pull away just as she’s about to grind against me, leaving her panting and desperate. I want her to beg, to need me.
“Nick,” she gasps, frustration and need making her voice break. “Please.”
I look at her, my heart racing as I drink her in, her lips swollen, her chest heaving, her whole body begging me to take her.
I could do it now. Take her fast, hard, but that’s not what I want. I want to break her down, make her ache for me, for more.
With a growl, I slide my hands to her wrists, pinning them above her head again, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingertips.
I lean down, kissing her deeply this time, my tongue exploring her mouth. When I pull back, I’m met with the glint of defiance in her eyes.
She wants me to push, to make her lose control, to make her beg for it.
“You’re mine tonight,” I say firmly, the words slipping from my lips in a command, and her eyes flicker, dark with excitement. “And every night now.”
With no warning, I slide my hand lower, my fingers brushing against the edge of her lace panties. I let her feel the pressure of my hand, but I don’t give her what she wants, not yet.
“Please,” she whispers again, the desperation in her voice making me harder than I thought possible.